


Stolen Moments

by waywardriot



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Hair Washing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27085741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardriot/pseuds/waywardriot
Summary: One of Akira’s favorite activities is showering together, honestly in an innocent way. Yes, he likes looking at his boyfriend in his beautiful expanse, but the shower is intimate in a slightly different way. When steam is blanketing them, things feel not quite as real, not quite as harsh, and it softens Goro’s edges just enough.Akira convinces Goro to let him wash his hair, as resistant as he always is.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 174





	Stolen Moments

**Author's Note:**

> my persona muse died shortly after writing this, so this has been rotting on my drive 99% finished since june and i figured i should finally post it
> 
> this was my first time writing from akira's perspective so i hope it's okay!

“Hey,” Akira says out of the blue, laying on his bed with his head dangling off the edge as he watches Goro study. “Shower with me.”

Goro, sitting at Akira’s desk and meticulously poring over his textbook, doesn’t even look up. “What for?”

“I might slip and fall if I’m alone,” Akira answers, completely straight-faced. 

Goro looks at Akira for just a moment, eyes narrowed, and then rolls them and returns to his work. “Then slip.”

Akira brings a hand to his heart and looks appropriately offended. “The betrayal,” he says, sounding distraught. “Come on. It’s late, and you need a break.”

Trying to get Goro to take a break from studying or whatever it is he does is like pulling teeth sometimes. He has strict discipline and loses himself in his tasks with an impressive single-mindedness sometimes, but Akira won’t let that stand—Goro _needs_ to relax, as much as he protests. 

“In a little.”

“You’ve been working all day.” Akira steps up behind Goro at the desk and wraps his arms around his shoulders, perching his chin on the crown of his head. “Just watching you makes me tired.”

“I apologize for having a work ethic.” 

He’s definitely not sorry, and Akira rolls his eyes and squeezes him. “Please?”

Goro gives an aggrieved sigh that means _you really aren’t going to give up, are you?_ and closes his textbook in a way that’s undeniably passive aggressive. Then, he allows Akira to pull him up out of his seat and drag him to the bathroom before he can back out.

Akira’s bathroom is small, and they have to shuffle around as they take off their clothes and Akira gets the water going, but they’re under the spray of the warm water soon enough. 

One of Akira’s favorite activities is showering together, honestly in an innocent way. Yes, he likes looking at his boyfriend in his beautiful expanse, but the shower is intimate in a slightly different way. When steam is blanketing them, things feel not quite as real, not quite as harsh, and it softens Goro’s edges just enough. 

Of course, there are the awkward bits—the shower in Akira’s apartment isn’t that big (at least it _has_ a shower, though, unlike a certain coffee shop) and there’s no comfortable way to get them both under the water at once, but Akira’s content with it, anyway. Even if Goro grumbles and complains. 

This time, Akira gets dibs on the hot water first and quickly takes care of cleaning himself, basking in the gentle quiet. They eventually trade places, Goro in the spray of the water, and when he picks up the expensive shampoo that Akira isn’t allowed to use on himself, Akira gets an idea and perches his chin on Goro’s shoulder from behind. “Let me wash your hair.”

“I’m perfectly capable of washing it myself, thank you.” Goro flicks water over his shoulder into Akira’s face. 

He truly is obtuse sometimes. “I know,” Akira says. “Come on.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to,” Akira simply answers, because that should be explanation enough.

Goro stares down at the shampoo bottle in his hand, and Akira can basically hear the cogs turning in his pretty little head as he weighs out the pros and cons and Akira’s potential motivations for doing this. Even after all this time, it’s still hard to break Goro out of this habit of thinking of the world in black and white, in constant exchanges that make the world go round. For Akira, no tangible benefit rests in washing Goro’s hair, so why would he offer this?

“Indulge me, Go-ro,” Akira intones into his ear, relying on the tone of voice that he can (usually) use to cajole him into doing things he isn’t sure about. 

Goro makes a slightly strangled sound that lets Akira know he’s won before Goro even says it. “If you insist,” he finally says with a sigh, holding the shampoo bottle out behind him for Akira to take. 

“Thanks.” Akira plants a kiss on Goro’s shoulder before he takes the bottle and pulls away. “Tilt your head back.”

Akira can pretty much hear Goro rolling his eyes, but he still does as instructed, eyes closed. He’s only ever this compliant for Akira, and it brings a faint smile to Akira’s face. 

He squeezes a fair amount of shampoo into his hand—not too much, so Goro won’t bite his head off—and begins to massage it into Goro’s hair. 

Now, Goro may compare Akira to a cat on a regular basis, but there’s something undeniably cat-like about the way he leans back into Akira’s hands—like when Morgana bumps his head against his hand and demands to be pet. If Akira turned the water off and leaned close enough, he’s sure he’d be able to hear a faint purring rumbling from Goro’s chest. 

He _would_ tease Goro about it, but that would be a surefire way to make Goro jerk away from him and break this tender moment. Instead, Akira smiles since Goro can’t see and continues to knead the soap into his hair, scratching his nails against his scalp occasionally.

He probably lathers up Goro’s hair for longer than is necessary, but it’s hard not to indulge in the way Goro’s shoulders go slack and a soft sigh leaves him. Goro was reticent enough about this, so Akira might as well make it nice, putting as much love and care into his motions as he can—which is quite a lot, actually. He has a lot of love for Goro pent up, and he’ll weaponize it if he must. 

Once the shampoo has been rinsed out, he switches to combing conditioner—because _no, Akira, I’m not letting you dry out my hair_ —through Goro’s hair with his fingers and idly rubs his thumbs into the back of Goro’s neck while he lets it settle in. It’s calm and quiet, no sound but the water against the tiles, and Akira could easily lose himself in the monotonous motions. 

After some time, with steady hands he directs Goro to turn around so he can rinse his hair out properly. He’s pleasantly surprised when there’s no instinctive tensing or flinching from Goro at his front being exposed. His face is mostly peaceful—though his eyes scrunch shut more tightly when water trickles over his eyelids—and he’s receptive. Plus, he’s beautiful with water gathering in the hollows of his collarbone, drops sliding down his lithe body. Really, when his boyfriend is _this_ beautiful, can Akira be blamed for staring?

( _Goro would absolutely blame him and tell him he’s a sentimental fool in that fondly exasperated tone of voice, but Akira still does it anyway._ )

While he has the chance, he leans in to press a kiss to Goro’s lips, quick and soft and tasting slightly of soap. Goro’s eyelids flutter for just a moment, and when he opens them to look at Akira again, a wry expression takes its place. “Taking advantage, are we?”

“I’m a thief,” Akira informs Goro, moving a wet strand of hair out of his face. “I steal things.” All kinds of things—whispered words, tender kisses, stuttered breaths straight from his lungs. 

“Not anymore, you aren’t.” Before Akira can steal a second kiss, Goro turns around and shuts the water off. “We’ve been in here too long. The water bill.”

“This is my apartment. I pay the utilities.”

“Yes, and I’m doing you a favor.” And with that, Goro steps out of the shower and wraps a towel around himself, leaving Akira to sigh. 

It’s okay, though; being with Goro is a series of stolen moments snatched throughout the day, tenderness interspersed wherever Akira can fit it in. He may not be able to convince Goro to spend hours lazing with him in bed, but Akira can still give him affection in the form of kisses pressed to his temple, fingers running through his hair, and shoulders being massaged while he studies.

And, like how he smacks Goro on the butt as he joins him in dripping on the floor, completely straight-faced. 

Goro scowls at him and shoves him out of the way so that he can monopolize the sink, spreading out his array of facial creams and various skincare products. 

That’ll keep him occupied for a good fifteen minutes—and _god forbid_ that routine be interrupted—so once Akira is dried off, he goes to yank on a pair of boxers, flops down on his bed, and scrolls aimlessly through his phone while he waits for Goro. 

After preening and doing his bedtime routine, Goro joins him and sits on the edge of the bed, one of Akira’s shirts hanging low on his shoulders and his hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. It’s a pleasant surprise that he’s actually coming to bed instead of trying to get back to his reading, so Akira gives him a soft smile and pats the mattress beside him.

By the way Goro’s lip twitches, Akira knows he’s suppressing a smile—and that’s enough for him. When Goro lays down, facing away in a blatant invitation for Akira to be the big spoon tonight, Akira presses up to his back and wraps an arm around his waist. Goro is still warm from the shower and his hair smells sweet—as it should, with the appalling amount of money Goro spends on hair care—when Akira buries his nose in the nape of his neck. Breathing him in, he squeezes Goro as tightly as he dares. “You should let me wash your hair again sometime.”

“If you’re good,” Goro drawls, which is interrupted by a small yelp when Akira bites down on his neck. “You’re _pushing it_.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m always good,” Akira says innocently.

When Goro mutters something rude, all Akira can do is laugh fondly. In these exquisitely small moments, sometimes it all hits him at once, how lucky he is to be here like this. So much loss and hurt built up into this, and Akira can’t say he wouldn’t do it all again if it meant he would be lying here with Goro in his arms, alive and breathing and real.

“I love you,” Akira breathes against Goro’s skin, reverent. “Goro.”

Goro’s breath catches audibly, and he carefully twists his upper body around until he can place a kiss on Akira’s lips, meeting him with a tenderness that only appears on quiet nights when they’re alone. “I know, Akira,” he murmurs in return.

Even if he doesn’t return the sentiment verbally, Akira knows he feels it. Maybe Goro isn’t good at telling Akira he loves him out loud, but he shows it in other ways: in the squeeze of his hand; his fond sighs; his amused remarks; and, most of all, in the things he allows only Akira to do for him.

Like washing his hair.


End file.
